Fannie Farmer's Book of Good Dinners.

After much meditation and experience, I have divined that it takes as much sense and refinement and talent to cook dinner, wash and wipe a dish, make a bed and dust a room, as goes to the writing of a novel, or shining in high society. - Rose Terry Cooke

A long browse in a secondhand shop in the nearby town of Martigny (in not-so-flatland), I happened upon a little gem of a book that will inspire me to create "Good Dinners" for Roy to come home to after a long day at work. The edition that I bought was published in 1972 but the first edition was published in 1905 making it over 100 years old - before food was packed with preservatives, highly processed and packaged in more plastic than the world can handle.

The book is set out in multiple course menus, most with rather strange, old fashioned recipes that I wouldn't eat but hey, there's nothing wrong with a bit of adaptation right? It's what every housewife learns to do best! At the top of each menu there is a quote to inspire a housewife to whip up a storm and to feel good about what she does.

No man can be wise on an empty stomach - George Eliot

Okay so Boiled calves tongues don't sound very appetizing now, but I'm sure it went down a treat back in the early 1900's when the men came home from work all tired, dirty and hungry.

I have a feeling that a few of these menus will be tested out at our next "Housewife conference".

The art of improvisation

Being a housewife has allowed me to work on my improvisation skills. Although I've never been huge on following recipes to a T, the thought of re-venturing outside into 2 degree weather outside when I realise I've as usual forgotten something from the shops (grocery lists help, but I'm a skim reader from way back - I tend to miss things) has forced me on many occasions to sift through the cupboards and improvise our meals.

During our 'housewives conference' (as I'm calling it - it sounds like a great excuse to me for regular catch ups, lets hope Easy Jet does frequent flyer miles!) the other week, I think we fine tuned the art of improvisation when attempting the ultimate in French desserts - the Creme Brulee. Light, creamy and full of custard-y goodness, creme brulee is topped off so perfectly by that crunchy caramelized sugar top - cracking it always reminds me of the film Amelie...

Step 1: Purchase equipment. We bought some little white ramekins and a blow torch to set us off on our creme brulee adventure.

Step 2: Fill the blow torch with gas. Sounds easier then it actually was... My little torch didn't work and gas leaked out of it when filling - no surprises there really considering I purchased it from Xenos (think along the lines of 'Crazy Clarks'). We also discovered that it tends to give you unpleasant electrical shock if you attempt to light it while touching the metal on top...

Step 3: Make the custard. This had to be done one day in advance (which was painful - I like eating things as soon as they're made!) and was surprisingly simple. We boiled away the ingredients on the stove, placed the ramekins in a tray of water and baked away.

Step 4: Once the custards had set in the fridge overnight (we were SO good and didn't even peek or dip a finger in!), the fun part began - burning the brown sugar on top. Feeling overly confident in our dessert skills, I had decided earlier that day that we could definitely improvise the lack of a blow torch. I had thoughts of burning matches over the sugar; or somehow holding it over the flame on the gas stove; heating a spoon and attempting to use it to melt the sugar... A little bit of Googling later and we had our solution - putting the custards in a tray of ice water and under a very hot grill. We knew it would be challenging as the custard has to remain cold, but these 2 housewives rose to the occasion...

Step 5: Bon appetit! Our little creme brulees were delicious (no photos sadly - we just dug into them far too quickly to turn a camera on) - the custard was ever so slightly overheated, but I think we did pretty well for our first attempt. Our hard work definitely paid off when cracking the sugar on top - yummmmm..... But, I think it's time to bite the bullet and purchase a proper blow torch - I could definitely see creme brulee featuring on the menu again :-)

Buon appetito - the dinner party experiment, part 1

I LOVE to eat - and seeing as eating usually involves cooking, when we weren't crafting away or saving my bike from a Dutch bike stealing ring, us two housewives were cooking up a storm here in Nijmegen last week. Rather then just baking a cake, we decided to go all out and do themed dinners.

Night 1 = Italian. We had visions of a candle lit dinner, starting with an Italian aperitif (carefully chosen from the supermarket because of its cute little bottles & red fizzy appearance), beautifully crafted gnocchi and chocolate meringues for dessert...

I've made my own gnocchi plenty of times in the past and it's always been a breeze - it tastes so much better then store bought and if you can mash potatoes, then you can make gnocchi in my opinion.

The potatoes were boiling away...

The dough was being mixed... (and in hindsight, this is when I should have realised something was wrong - I just couldn't get the consistency right but gave up and rolled the little dough balls anyway...)

And by this stage, the balls had kinda melted into little mush - but we were having fun with the dough anyway!

We chose to make the little meringues because lets face it - they look pretty darn cute on that website. Ours however, didn't so much resemble acorns - more something you'd find in a dog park...

We beat the egg whites to that beautiful fluffy marshmallow stage...

Folded in the cocoa, maizena and various other ingredients to give it that yummy chocolatey taste...

And piped away onto a baking tray...

We forgot to take any photos of the finished product (2 of these sandwiched together with some melted chocolate) but lets just say, the recipe was misleading... Despite supposedly making 60 little meringues halves, we only ended up with this tray????

So, Italian night - the verdict... Never again are we drinking Camparisoda (just cos something is red and fizzy doesn't mean it's sweet and tasty), the gnocchi was pretty tasty in its cheesy basil sauce, despite it's deformed shapes, and the meringues weren't quite as expected, but still chocolately and yummy - so how wrong can you go...

We may still need to perfect our housewifey dinner party skills - but I think that's just a perfect excuse for some more feasts to be cooked when we next meet again - this time, in not-so-flatland...

I thought it was about time I learnt to sew.

Last week was our first ever housewife meet up since we both made the move to Europe. Not really being a fan of sewing or needle craft, I thought since I was now on the quest to become one of the best housewives ever (along with my fellow housewife friend) that it was about time I learnt this handy craft that so many housewives have perfected. My fellow housewife Lu has this craft down to a fine art, having made toys, quilts and plenty of other crafty things with her own two hands (which sadly lack some much needed hot pink nail polish).

We sat at the table with the essentials - a packet of stroopwafels, almond rounds, chocolate (from not-so-flatland) and a computer to search for something to inspire us to create something that we could wear in unison while we embark on this quest to become the best housewives. We googled, giggled, ate, giggled some more and finally decided that we should make a pair of Matryoshka Doll brooches to pin on our aprons. Lu being the whiz with a needle, whipped hers up in no time while at the same time trying to teach me how to blanket stitch my little, fabric lady together. I finally managed to complete the process of stitching her together - with a few minor hiccups, then it was time to get a little creative and give her a face.  Lets just say that this was not my finest hour. My cute little Matryoshka Doll ended up looking like a tired, depressed and somewhat angry lady which I guess kind of suited her since it took me about four hours to complete.

Even though sewing isn't one of my favourite hobbies, I felt quite satisfied with completing this tiny little fabric lady.

This is us trying to portray how our little fabric ladies were feeling. As you can see, mine is a little sad.

To paint, or not to paint?

Ok, I admit it - I'm a girly girl. Which is why, on a dark stormy night last week here in Flatland when our dishwasher broke and half our lovely kitchen collapsed for no apparent reason, my first concern was not for the potentially fire-causing dangling electrical wires in the wall, but my fingernails.

In the midst of the lightening and thunder flying around us, my husband is on the floor with a mop handle attempting to somehow lift the dishwasher back onto its dodgily made platform, muttering about fire hazards and water leakage while I stared at my nails which I had been dutifully filing every day in preparation for a lovely shade of hot pink.

After an hour of heaving, shoving and mopping (if the Dutch were as curious as I about looking in people's large front windows, we would've provided the entire neighborhood with enough entertainment to base a sitcom off), the dishwasher was back in place - on a noticeable lean - and the skirting boards clipped back on. I breathed a sigh of relief - surely that was the hard part???

After a few emails and phone calls, we had an appointment a few nights later for our landlady and her boyfriend to come and view the damage. Thankfully, both our real estate agent and landlady speak some English, so I didn't have to spend the afternoon glued to google translate in preparation for their visit. After much muttering in Dutch that I pretended to understand (living in foreign countries has made me a pro at the smile-and-nod move) while inspecting the dishwasher & cupboards, it was decided that the work of a professional was needed. A few days later, at no set time of the day (the 'we'll be there anytime between 9am and 5pm rule also applies over here apparently) in comes the dishwasher fix it man. After a hurried goedemorgen and before attempting any further Dutch, I rush him up the stairs and point at the start button - niet werken, niet werken. Turns out he actually spoke reasonable English and after many more mutterings and unscrewing the ... I guess it's the motherboard of dishwashers?, he gleefully points at the fried electrical segment and tells me our dishwasher is thirty year old (I think he meant 3 - I don't think pretty stainless steel Whirlpools fitted in with the home decor of the early 1980's) and we either need a new one or the part replaced...

Now as I sit and wait for our landlady to make her decision and repair our precious dishwashing machine, I once again find myself staring at my fingernails. After more then a week of scrubbing saucepans and carefully rinsing wine glasses, I have since given up on my daily file. The question is - to paint, or not to paint?

Although the Dutch are generally quite efficient, I have a feeling I might be elbow deep in soapy water for longer then I had anticipated. Perhaps this housewife will celebrate the return of the dishwasher with a visit to the manicurist. Although, the thought of the time required to carefully practice my manicure related words with my old friend, google translate (sadly, although Nederlands voor anderstaligen explained the necessary phrases for a visit to the doctor, a visit to the beauty salon was not covered) kinda puts a dampener on that one....

How can I be the perfect housewife when I have to share a laundry?

Clothes pile up for a week and I can't do anything about it! When I embarked on this journey to a new, unfamiliar land with the intention of becoming the perfect housewife I didn't think I would have to share a laundry. There is one machine shared between our building of perhaps ten apartments and it's locked so no one can have a sneaky wash after dark. Ohh what's a girl to do?

Since I don't know enough French to bargain with our concierge for extra washing time, I am reduced to sitting tight and waiting for my time slot. I walk up to the concierges door going over what I need to say in my head before she answers the door and when she finally does, I freeze, stutter and eventually she works out that I need to use the machine. I have etched my washing time in my brain to make sure I don't miss my day, otherwise my husband will run out of clean socks and underwear and I will have failed as a housewife.

One never truly appreciates the convenience of having their own washing machine until they have to share.

Two trailing spouses

Ever wonder what a day in the life of an ordinary 'housewife' entails?

We are Lu and Tiff, two average Australian women who have recently quit our jobs, said goodbye to our family and friends and packed up our comfortable lives in Australia to follow our husbands to the other side of the world - The Netherlands (flatland) and Switzerland (not-so-flatland). Our better halves (or are they???) have been friends since their early undergraduate days at university, not only completing their PhDs together, but now also working on the same project in Europe.

Being intrepid travelers from way back, we both jumped at the opportunity to experience everyday life in a different culture and soon found ourselves stay at home housewives in countries where neither of us speak the language. Even though we found ourselves sacrificing our days as 21st century women, we delighted in the thought of embracing our inner housewife.

From flatland to not-so-flatland, two housewives unite - welcome to Trailing Spouses :-)